Spooktober kickoff: "Spooks and Spirits and Shadowy Shapes"

October is here, which means a monthlong celebration of Halloween and a full month (hopefully) of terrified nail-biting over the Philadelphia Phillies' playoff fate. As I mentioned a few days ago, there's going to be a heavy emphasis on books this month, and we're kicking off with a ragged 1970s paperback edition of Spooks and Spirits and Shadowy Shapes, an anthology of ghost stories aimed at young readers and illustrated by Robert L. Doremus (1913-2010).

The book was first published in hardcover in 1949 by E.P. Dutton & Co. and received subsequent hardcover and paperback editions over the decades. Copies of hardcover editions are scarce and list online for $70 or more; perhaps they're just too beloved for families to part with them. Perhaps they got worn out from being read hundreds of times. A little of both?

I'm not sure if the paperback version is abridged and contains fewer stories than the original hardcovers. My Xerox Education Publication paperback has 127 pages and nine stories, with the table of contents listed at right. The stories are by Emma L. Brock, Elizabeth Yates, Aileen Fisher (2), Elizabeth Coatsworth, Ruth D. McCrea, Gertrude Crampton, Adele DeLeeuw and Mary R. Walsh. That's right — all women. Very cool! 

In an October 30, 1949, column for The Houston Chronicle headlined "Halloween Attitude Growing Dangerous," Evelyn S. Thompson complains: "The past few years has [sic] seen the development of an attitude toward Halloween that has produced devastating results. Our younger generation has come to look upon this day as a time when all restraint can be thrown aside and we have evidence of vandalism on every side. Property is abused and destroyed. Instead of wholesome fun that could be the keynote of this 'spooky' holiday, we find the police force augmented and property owners in distress, fearful of the destruction the pranksters may create."

In 1949! Apparently, youth pranks and vandalism around Halloween were especially bad in the United States (and elsewhere) until the holiday was "tamed" with the widespread introduction of trick-or-treating in the early 1950s.

And what did Thompson think of as "wholesome fun"? Books! She touts Spooks and Spirits and Shadowy Shapes as "an excellent collection of modern stories" for ages 8 to 12. "They are easy reading for the average youngster in graces [sic] four to six, and are breath-taking, but each has a plausible explanation," Thompson wrote.

So in the end, perhaps no actual spooks or spirits. Boo! 

Writing an Amazon review of the book in 2015, Marilyn Schneider states: "I have been looking for this treasure from my childhood 'forever'. I got it from the little neighborhood library as a child and the last time I tried to get it for my grand kids I was informed it was long out of print. It's a book of good old scary stories that are decent and wholesome from a long gone generation of good clean fun."

Meanwhile, illustrator Doremus had a long and varied career. According to his Legacy.com obituary, he shifted his focus to children's books after serving in the U.S. Army Air Corps during World War II. It states: "His credits include a great number of children's readers and histories, textbooks, posters, film strips, coloring books, activity books, and career education packages for elementary schools. People across America growing up in the 50s, 60s, and 70s may remember him for his work in text books or the more than 100 children's books as well as activity books based on their favorite television shows such as 'Get Smart,' 'Convoy,' and 'Bonanza.' His most memorable and favorite commercial work was the picture book based on the Walt Disney movie 'Old Yeller.' The subject matter has ranged from scientific material to a whimsical cement mixer named 'Little Max;' from the life of Harry S. Truman, to 'Star Trek' and Dr. Spock."

Here are some illustrations from Spooks and Spirits and Shadowy Shapes. While the second and third ones might have been fine for kids in the 1940s and 1950s, they're a big NOPE today. Happy Spooktober!

Beautiful but quite common 1881 poetry book: "Farm Festivals"

It's rare to come across a book that's 144 years old, is incredibly common and isn't the Bible. But that's the case with this gorgeous hardcover book, Farm Festivals. It's a book of poems penned by Will Carleton (1845-1912) that was published in 1881 by Harper & Brothers of New York. 

Carleton, a Midwesterner, wrote sentimental poems about farm life and rural America, appealing to readers’ nostalgia for a simpler lifestyle as industrialization spread. His collections were very popular and went through numerous printings.

An article in The Kansas City Times on December 19, 1912, reporting Carleton's death states:

"Will Carleton's name is a household word in America and not unknown in many English homes. He was essentially a 'people's poet,' and it was a certain homeliness of theme and simplicity of treatment that sent his poems straight to the hearts of the people. Much of his verse was of a timely nature and probably no American poet, unless it be James Whitcomb Riley, was more popular with the school children."

This popularity means Carleton's books are not hard to find in the 21st century and, unless there is something unique about an individual volume, the books do not sell for very much. A quick glance finds copies of Farm Festivals selling on AbeBooks for $3, $5 and $6. 

If you'd like, I'll send you my copy of the book, free of charge. Just shoot me an email at chrisottopa (at) gmail.com, and help me with my decluttering. If you'd like, you can make a modest donation to your local food bank or library in lieu of sending me anything. First come, first served.

Here are some peeks inside the book, which appears to have multiple uncredited illustrators:

One movie after another*

*or, like a thousand times before, like the castle in its corner, in a medieval game, I foresee terrible trouble, and I stay here just the same

In my movie-viewing this year, I've seen more than 40 movies, spanning 1917 to 2025, that represent first-time watches for me. I'll post the full list of my favorite first watches in early January. But I'm certain that two movies that will reside in my top five are 1982's Missing by Costa-Gavras and this month's One Battle After Another by Paul Thomas Anderson.

For me, they're in dialogue with each other. Missing is the best film I've seen thus far this year; the one that resonated with me the most and that was scarier than any of the horror movies that Ashar and I watch. I watched it early in the year, a few weeks after the inauguration, as it became clear that the public roundups, "disappearings" and domestic military deployments promised in 2024 were to become our reality of 2025. Missing's long first act, especially, is gut-wrenching, capturing the visceral terror of a regime that vanishes people simply for what they say, write or believe. Jack Lemmon and Sissy Spacek absolutely deserved their Oscar nominations.

One Battle After Another is about resisting oppressive regimes, and the immediate and generational consequences of brutal, violent activism carried out by fallible humans confronting monsters.

It's a comedy. 

And a drama. And a thriller. And a satire. There's not really one label for the film, which is par for the course for Anderson. While the obvious comparison within PTA's oeuvre is Inherent Vice, as both are Thomas Pynchon adaptations, sort of, the movie I found One Battle After Another to most be in conversation with is Magnolia. They are both interested in family clashes, especially between generations, and how they are resolved. On what we can and cannot forgive. There are similarities of form, too. One Battle After Another's long, tense middle act in Baktan Cross, and its score by Jonny Greenwood, reminds me of the sprawling "Stanley/Frank/Linda's Breakdown" section of Magnolia scored by Jon Brion (who should have been nominated for an Oscar).

I won't get into more specific details or spoilers of One Battle After Another. I think you should see the film. In a theater. On as big of a screen as possible. Avoid clips and spoilers, if you haven't already seen them. Let the movie unfold and surprise you. Let it marinate afterward.

Then, you might want to check out some thoughtful reviews and essays. Some that I found insightful include Ty Burr in The Washington Post (gift link), Robert Daniels on Substack, Aisha Harris for NPR, Ellen E. Jones for The Guardian, Kristen Lopez for The Film Maven, Walter Chaw for Film Freak Center, and Malindy Hetfeld on Medium. Seeking out and considering a diversity of views is important with this movie, which, just like its presumptive heroes, shouldn't be considered faultless. 

Finally, a great movie should spur you to seek out other films. PTA himself suggested these films as sharing themes with One Battle After Another:

• Running on Empty (1988, Sidney Lumet; also one of my grandmother's favorites)
• Midnight Run (1988, Martin Brest)
• The French Connection (1971, William Friedkin)
• The Battle of Algiers (1966, Gillo Pontecorvo) 
• The Searchers (1956, John Ford)

And here are some more, based on some great BlueSky user suggestions and my own brainstorming:

• The Spook Who Sat by the Door (1973, Ivan Dixon)
• Missing (1982, Costa-Gavras)
• Z (1968, Costa-Gavras)
• Uptight (1968, Jules Dassin)
• El Mar La Mar (2017, Joshua Bonnetta & J.P. Sniadecki)
• Black Panthers (1968, Agnès Varda)
• The Fifth Horseman Is Fear (1965, Zbyněk Brynych)
• Black Wax (1983, Robert Mugge)
• The Golden Dream (2013, Diego Quemada-Díez)
  

Hours after watching One Battle After Another, this headline popped up on my phone. We are living in one hell of a moment.

From the readers: Memories of Hurr's in Montoursville

(This photo is NOT from the Hurr's on Arch Street in Montoursville. It's the Hurr's on Washington Boulevard in Williamsport, as posted on the East End Gang From Williamsport Pennsylvania Facebook page. It's the photo that most reminds of the cozy interior of the Arch Street Hurr's, of which I can find no photos online.) 

Commenting in the 2018 Papergreat post about the Hurr's Dairy Store on Arch Street in Montoursville (just a stone's throw from our house on Spruce Street), Susan Hooton (Derr) writes (lightly edited): 

"I worked at the Hurr’s Store on N. Arch Street in Montoursville from 1972 to 1976. I lived with my parents in a house between the high school and the Hurr’s store. I would come home from school, change into the mint green uniform, watch the soap opera 'General Hospital,' which I still watch today, and run up the sidewalk to work. June Scott was the manager then and was the kindest person. I remember dime night ice cream cones. The first night of the event I was working alone. I sold out of ice cream. My work area had so much melted, slippery ice cream I could slide on it. Customers would come in with huge mixing bowls and tell me just fill it up.

"I have so many good memories from that time. When I got off at 11:00 p.m., all the neighbors from both sides of the street would watch that I got home OK. I did not know this until a few years later. I was scared because Arch Street was lined with trees from which anyone could jump out at me. Gary Williams did own the building (a double house) at that time. He told me if anyone comes in to try and hurt you or rob you just knock on the wall. Very nice idea but probably not possible. Luckily I never had any problems.

"Hurr’s store also had peanut butter ripple ice cream that I have not been able to find in all (lots) of places I have lived since then.

"Now I am a 69-year-old widow living in Phoenix, Arizona. 🔥🥵☀️

"I would love to chat with anyone who might remember anything from that time. My last name then was Derr."

Thanks for taking the time to share these memories, Susan! This is the most specific remembrance I've come across regarding the Arch Street location. There's a good chance I was in the store at some point when you were working from 1972 to 1976, as we lived right around the corner in the mid 1970s. I hadn't remembered the mint-green uniforms, so that's a neat detail. Peanut butter ripple remains one of my favorite types of ice cream and I agree that a quality version of that ice cream is difficult to find. And what a coincidence that we were both in Montoursville in the mid 1970s and now we're in Arizona: you in Phoenix and me down here in Florence.

Spooktober is almost here

October is less than a week away and I'll once again being doing spooky- and Halloween-themed posts throughout the month. I got myself organized in advance so that I don't have to fly by the seat of my pants (or the seat of my broomstick) this time around. The above teaser image show many of the items I'll be writing about.

This Spooktober (or Mild Fear 2025, or the latest installment of what I called Halloween Countdown way back in 2011) will be heavy on books, which is of course quite appropriate for Papergreat. So be sure to check back throughout October for lots of fun stuff that might be spooky, but isn't nearly as scary as the real world these days.

Saboteur (1942, Alfred Hitchcock)

(Apologies to Norman Lloyd)

(P.S.: Spice is 110% fine. She's standing on a shelf.)

Book cover: "The Footsteps at the Lock"

Here's a reissue of an old detective novel on this surreal day in Arizona.¹

• Title: The Footsteps at the Lock 
• Author: Ronald Arbuthnott Knox (1888-1957). He was an Anglican priest in the Church of England, who later resigned from that post to convert to Catholicism — an event that created a lot of buzz. On the side, he wrote detective novels, as one does.
• Cover design: Paul E. Kennedy
• Publisher: Dover Publications, New York
• Publication note on copyright page: "This Dover edition, first published in 1983, is an unabridged republication of the work as originally published by Methuen &  Co. Ltd., London, 1928. (The map that originally appeared on the endpapers has been placed after the dedication.)" That map appears at the bottom of this post, too.
• Series: This is one of five novels by Knox that feature insurance investigator Miles Bredon.
• Dedication: To David in memory of the Uncas
• Pages: 248
• Format: Paperback
• Price: $6.95
• Back cover excerpt: "Monsignor Knox is well known in mystery circles as one of the fathers of Holmesian scholarship. This lighthearted narrative reveals him as not only a scholar of the mystery genre but an able practitioner as well."
• First sentence: "It is an undeniable but mystifying fact of natural ethics that a man has the right to dispose of his own property at death."
• Random excerpt from middle #1: "One very old gentleman had to be convinced, with great difficulty, that iw as the hare, not the hounds, which worked by electricity; he was positive of the contrary — it was notorious."²
• Random excerpt from middle #2: "You do not shock the refined ears of a lady who dates from the Crimea by describing too faithfully the habits of a young ne'er-do-weel."
• Random excerpt from middle #3: "Millington Bridge is not among those one-way-traffic concerns in which our thrifty forefathers delighted; there is room to pass a lorry on it; but, by a kind of false analogy, it was a sharp angle over each of its jutting piers in which the pedestrian may take refuge from the dangers and the mud-splashings of the road."
• Rating on Goodreads: 3.66 stars (out of 5)
• Goodreads review excerpt: In 2012, Abbey wrote: "Layers within layers, puzzles tied to other puzzles, abound in this finely crafted, albeit slow and extremely old-fashioned tale. ... I’d always wanted to see what Knox’s writing was like, and now I have. While I enjoyed this one I won’t go far out of my way to read more of his books, as the excellent initial premise, the convoluted plotting and good pacing eventually became overwhelmed by the formulaic nature of the 'thrills'."
• Rating on Amazon: 4 stars (out of 5)
• Amazon review excerpt: In 2015, Bracton wrote: "Close attention to the map at the beginning of the book is helpful (I made a rough schematic to keep next to me as I read). Of course, the real entertainment value of the story is in the puzzle and seeing how Bredon and Leyland sort it out. And the writing is beyond superb. Not only are there evocative descriptions of the upper Thames and surrounding countryside, but there are marvelous turns of phrase: in referring to a character's addiction to morphine, a doctor says 'When I saw him, he'd obviously more or less reached the line of perpetual snow.' But it's not all plot and clever writing; there's a very insightful (but not intrusive) discussion between two of the characters on a question of ethics. This is simply a very good book, and when you've read it, you'll be looking for Father Knox's other mystery novels."

Footnotes 

1. Taking place today in the Phoenix metroplex, mere miles apart: (a) the president and most of the U.S. presidential line of succession are attending a memorial service at State Farm Stadium in Glendale; (b) Ashar is working as a volunteer at the Gathering of the Ghouls fan convention at Rawhide Event Center in Chandler; and (c) and the Phillies are playing the Diamondbacks at Chase Field in Phoenix. 

2. According to Wikipedia, the transition from using live hares to mechanical lures in British greyhound racing occurred in 1926, which was two years before this book was first published.

A bit about spoons & alchymy from Alice Morse Earle

Customs and Fashions of Old New England was first published in 1893 and written by Alice Morse Earle (1851-1911), who was previously featured on Papergreat 13 years ago, in a post about her book Home Life in Colonial Days.

My copy of Customs and Fashions of Old New England is the 1909 reissue by Charles Scribner's Sons. It was once the property of Laura E. Bayless, per the cursive signature on the first page. That's possibly this Laura E. Bayless, but there's little way to know for sure. 

I've had a bookmark sticking out of this book for years, because I keep meaning to share this passage about spoons. So, without further ado, here it is:

"The greater number number of spoons owned by colonists were of pewter or of alchymy — or alcamyne, ocamy, ocany, orkanie, alcamy, or occonie — a metal composed of pan-brass and arsenicum. The reference in inventories, enrolments, and wills, to spoons of these materials are so frequent, so ever-present, as to make citation superfluous. An evil reputation of poisonous unhealthfulness hung around the vari-spelled alchymy (perhaps it is only a gross libel of succeeding generations); but, harmful of harmless, alchymy, no matter how spelt, disappears from use before Revolutionary times. Wooden spoons also are named. Silver spoons were not very plentiful. John Oxenbridge bequeathed thirteen spoons in 1673, and 'one sweetmeat spoon,' and '1 childs spoon which was mine in my infancy.' Other pap-spoons, and candle-spoons are named in wills; marrow-spoons, also, long and slender of bowl. The value of a dozen silver spoons was given in 1869 as £5 13s. 6d. In succeeding years each genteel family owned silver spoons, frequently in large number; while one Boston physician, Dr. Cutter, had, 1761, half a dozen gold teaspoons."

There’s a surprising amount packed into that little passage for spoon historians, etymologists, early American social historians, food historians and even archaeometallurgists to chew on. And it’s just one paragraph out of a 387-page treasure trove that we can thank Alice Morse Earle for compiling. If you ever come across a copy of Customs and Fashions of Old New England in your favorite used books store, I highly recommend it. (The full text of the book is also available via Project Gutenberg.)

1935 postcard from Angelo Frank Buffone to his brother Dominic

While I try to encourage Big Boi to eat following his surgery yesterday to remove his broken canine teeth (his life as a feral tomcat was a rough one), here's a postcard featuring a different "Big boy."

It's not often that you can positively identify both the sender and recipient on a 90-year-old postcard, but it worked out on this one. 

It was sent by Angelo Frank Buffone (October 9, 1912 — March 5, 2000) to his younger brother Dominic Buffone (1915 or 1916 — June 28, 2009). Coincidentally, the card is postmarked on the night of October 9, 1935, which was Frank's 23rd birthday. That could explain his playfully jabbing tone toward his younger brother.

The cursive message states:

Hay Big boy 

why in the hell didn't you write to us we are all wonder [?] what is the matter with you. I here you and Morella [?] are coming home Saturday. If you are I'll coming out there Friday night about 8 or 9 o'clock to take you in. So wait for me Friday night. 

Be Good Dick.

Frank Buffone. Worc., Mass.

The Buffone family was a big one. According to Dominic's 2009 obituary, there were 13 siblings in all. Both Frank and Dominic served for the United States in World War II, and I have to believe some of their other brothers did, too. Dominic took part in the Battle of Midway and lived in Worcester all of his life. Frank moved to Oceanside, California, (where I was born) around 1980, according to his obituary in the March 8, 2000, edition of the North County Times of Oceanside.

That obituary states that Frank "was a plumber with Plumbers Union Local 4 in Worcester before retiring and served as a supply staff segreant in the U.S. Army Air Corps during World War II. He served in the National Guard for 15 years."

Given the size of the Buffone family, I bet there's a fair chance someone out there will stumble upon this post during a Google search and can share some more information. And I'd be happy to get the postcard back into the family's hands if a relative of Frank or Dominic would like to have it.

RIP, Charles Robert Redford Jr.

Robert Redford, an iconic American actor and Oscar-winning director, died in his sleep at age 89 today in Sundance, Utah, the location of the Sundance Institute, which he founded in 1981 to support emerging and aspiring independent filmmakers. 

Ethan Hawke wrote on Instagram: “Robert Redford, our ultimate champion of independent film, relentless advocate for authentic storytelling and fiercely passionate environmentalist. Robert’s legacy remains ingrained in our culture, transformed by his artistry, activism and the founding of Sundance Institute and Film Festival.”

It's hard to pick and choose from among all the incredible films Redford was involved with, but if I had to program a two-week memorial film festival that admittedly involves a lot of my personal favorites, it would look something like this:

WEEK 1

• Festival opener: Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969)
• The Hot Rock (1972)
• The Sting (1973)
• Three Days of the Condor (1975)
• All the President's Men (1976)
• (This is chronological, but it's the viewing order I'd put them in even if it weren't. It takes us from his superstar emergence to a series of 1970s films that transition from fun to serious, while being thrilling all the while.)

WEEK 2

• Ordinary People (1980, director only, for which he won the Oscar)
• The Natural (1984)
• Sneakers (1992)
• The Horse Whisperer (1998, director and star)
• Finale: All Is Lost (2013)
• Coda: "Nothing in the Dark," 1962 episode of "The Twilight Zone" (pictured at top)

I'm sure there will be protests that I should have included The Way We Were, Jeremiah Johnson or his directing efforts Quiz Show and A River Runs Through It. Or perhaps something else. Let me know in the comments! 

Saturday's postcard: This summer camp skunk is gr-r-reat

I love this 1968 fill-in-the-boxes summer camp postcard from Kellogg Company. Sure, it's just advertising and wiring kids to eat Tony the Tiger's Frosted Flakes. But in the grand scheme of things, that's far from the worst kind of indoctrination.

Here, from Wikipedia, is more than you ever wanted to know about Tony:

"Tony began to be humanized in the 1970s; he was given an Italian-American nationality and consumers were briefly introduced to more of Tony's family including Mama Tony, Mrs. Tony, and a daughter, Antoinette. Tony was a popular figure among the young Italian-American population and it showed in 1974, where he was deemed 'Tiger of the Year' in an advertising theme taken from the Chinese Lunar Calendar. ... Later that year, Tony graced the covers of Italian GQ and Panorama. ... In addition to Tony's success, during this decade, son Tony Jr. was even given his own short-lived cereal in 1975, Frosted Rice. [Martin] Provensen's original art design for the tiger has changed significantly over the years, as Tony the whimsical, cereal-box-sized tiger with a teardrop-shaped head was replaced by his fully-grown son Jr., who is now a sleek, muscular sports enthusiast."

Getting back to the postcard, the illustration is gorgeous and, of course, I'm a sucker for the cute skunk, given that I'm currently looking after them nightly here at Montebello Manor. They're such cute critters! 

Related posts

• Guide to American summer camps from 102 years ago
• Mom's postcard from camp: "Please come and get me"
• Plot thickens in Mom's attempts to escape summer camp
• The best thing to do at summer camp
• Postcards to send home from summer camp
• Light & shadow & Lochearn

Snippets from the April 24-30, 1971, edition of TV Guide

Let's peer inside this defaced, 54-year-old issue of TV Guide for April 24-30, 1971. Specifically this is the Chicago Metropolitan Edition. This is all the stuff that was on TV when I was just 4 months old. Under editor Merrill Panitt, it features articles and reviews by Neil Hickey, Cleveland Amory, E. Joseph Bennett, Dick Hobson, Richard K. Doan, Judith Crist and Bill Davidson, among others. 

In a biography of Walter Annenberg, the website Immigrant Entrepreneurship states: "(TV Guide) Editor Merrill Panitt and (publisher) Walter Annenberg fully understood that television had to appeal to a wide audience in order to be profitable, but they also pressured television networks to raise the quality of programming. For that matter, TV Guide encouraged networks to end the practice of single sponsorship for programs, because giving networks the final say over scripts might improve quality. ... Walter and Merrill Panitt encouraged readers to tune into symphonies, ballets, and public broadcasting. In 1961, they used their platform to petition the Federal Communications Commission (FCC) to enforce the stipulation that stations air programs 'in the public interest' in order to renew their licenses."

1. Up first is a page from the day-by-day TV Movie Guide. This is what was available to watch. It was still about a half-decade before VCRs began to trickle into American homes and before cable services such as HBO began to be available. So unless you had an 8mm film projector, this represented what you could watch at home, in the Chicago area. It wasn't an awful selection, though! You could start your Saturday with a Blondie movie, watch the Val Lewton-produced western Apache Drums, be thrilled by Hammer's The Curse of the Mummy's Tomb and fall asleep to Laird Cregar in The Lodger. Or maybe something else on Saturday's list strikes your fancy.

2. "Hot Dog" was an NBC documentary series for kids that was hosted by Jo Anne Worley, Jonathan Winters and Woody Allen (!) but ran for just one season. Those few who watched and remembered it seemed to love it. One reviewer on IMDb wrote in 2006: "'Hot Dog' was unlike all the other kids' fare on Saturday. No animation at all. The cast were asked to explain things like 'How do they get toothpaste in the tube?' Woody Allen and Jonathan Winters of course came up with bizarre answers. Then we'd see how it's really done -- a filmed piece set to music, no narration, would take us through the process start to finish. The show was fun, interesting, original and different. Wish I could see it again."

3. The Sunday morning religious shows included "Mass for Shut-Ins." The history of the broadcast is discussed in an article on the website of the Historical Society of Quincy & Adams County. It notes: "The origin of the popular religious program began with casual conversation during a meeting of the Knights of Columbus Fourth Degree in September 1962. Father George McDivott, a Franciscan priest at Quincy College, suggested that the Knights of Columbus Fourth Degree sponsor a televised Mass for nursing home residents, the homebound and others unable to attend weekly services in their churches. ... WGEM-TV, the NBC station in Quincy, agreed to record the Mass at its studio at 7:30 p.m. Saturdays and televise it the following Sunday mornings. The Knights took on the responsibility of designing and building the set. (Bert) Wensing built the altar, and donations provided the crucifix hung behind the altar, along with linens, candles, cruets, hosts and wine the Mass required."

4. This episode of the news show "Cromie Circle" featured some compelling topics, back when news shows were much more intellectual, education and quiet than they are today. According to the website "History? Because It's Here!" Robert Cromie did it all at the Chicago Tribune, handling World War II coverage, sportswriting and book reviews. "WGN television broadcast 'Cromie’s Circle' from 1969 to 1980 and WTTW television broadcast 'Cromie’s Book Beat' nationwide from 1964 to 1980. As a reporter, he was enchanted with people and their life stories and he despised injustices and revealed them through vivid newspaper stories," the website notes.

5. Here's part of an interesting full-page advertisement urging people to invest in full-acre parcels in Meadview, Arizona. "People are moving into Arizona to escape congestion, strife and bad weather," the advertising copy notes. "The U.S. Census Bureau predicts Arizona's population growth at twice the national average in the coming decades." Indeed, Arizona's population was 1.7 million in 1970 and is about 7.6 million today. Meadview didn't quite fulfill its promise, though. About 1,400 people live there today and it's an unincorporated community with limited local infrastructure.

6. Want spooky movies? Here are some TV Guide ads for spooky movies. Strait-Jacket is a William Castle film written by Robert Bloch and featuring Joan Crawford at her Mommie Dearest scariest. The College Girl Murders (1967) is the U.S. release of the West German thriller The Monk with the Whip, one of many Edgar Wallace adaptations. Screaming Yellow Theater was hosted by the famous Svengoolie.

7. Speaking of spooky, the 1970s pretty much belonged to Vincent Price. In addition to his Hollywood movies, he was everywhere else, too: guest appearances on TV shows, talk shows, game shows, commercials, voiceovers and more. Here are a couple items from this issue of TV Guide:

8. Finally, I thought this was an interesting excerpt from an article by Richard K. Doan about the "happy talk" approach (sort of) taken by WABC Channel 7's evening news broadcast in New York City. Whether that was a good development in the long run for TV news is up for others to decide. I suspect it had a mixture of positive and negative consequences, though. We could probably use a bit more good cheer and positivity these days, so long as it's grounded in truth, and not misinformation or gaslighting.

Bookstore bulletin board, late summer 2025

Changing Hands Bookstore, Phoenix

September 9, 2025

Book cover: "Rotisserie League Baseball" (1984)

Preface: Creating fantasy baseball worlds took on many different forms for me in the 1980s and 1990s. It probably started for me, as with thousands of kids, when my friends and I played backyard wiffleball. The batter might declare himself to "be" Mike Schmidt, while the pitcher "was" Nolan Ryan or Tug McGraw. Circa 1982, we had Intellivision's Major League Baseball cartridge, and I would write out lineups featuring actual MLB players, keep score and compile the players' pitching and hitting statistics over multiple games. Baseball is the No. 1 reason for my love of math. I love calculating batting average, on-base percentage, slugging percentage and ERA. I love using algebra to project how many doubles a player might finish the season with if he has 17 doubles through 45 games. Sometimes, to occupy myself during a quiet afternoon, I would create imaginary players out of whole cloth and write out their entire 20-year career statistical arc, Baseball Register style, calculating each season's batting average (or ERA) and then the career totals. As I went along, I'd make up a story in my head for how the player's career went with injuries, trades and accolades. There was an intense period in Florida of laying out the cards and playing Statis Pro Baseball. Then came computers. I spent countless hours with fantasy teams I constructed on MicroLeague Baseball in the late 1980s and then APBA Baseball for Windows in the mid-1990s through early 2000s. But what about "fantasy" or "Rotisserie" baseball, as most people know it? The process of getting together with a group of friends, having a rollicking, daylong preseason auction to build rosters, making roster moves and trades throughout the season to chase stolen bases, home runs, saves, etc. I only had the pleasure of doing that for four or five years in the late 1990s, as a member of a Maryland-based league called the NWBL (my team was named the Jeltz Fan Club). But I had been aware of "roto baseball" for a long time before that, thanks to today's featured book...

• Title: Rotisserie League Baseball
• Secondary cover text: "The greatest game for baseball fans since baseball"
• Editor: Glen Waggoner (died in 2019 at age 78)
• Introduction: Daniel Okrent 
• Designer: Nicola Mazzella
• Publisher: Bantam Books
• Year: 1984
• Pages: 211
• Format: Paperback
• Price: $5.95 (Converted from 1984 dollars, that's about $18.25 today)
• Back cover excerpt: "Here is the only official guide and rulebook for the exciting new nationwide sensation — Rotisserie League Baseball! Featured on The Today Show, in The New York Times, The Los Angeles Herald Examiner, the Chicago Tribune — it's the greatest game for baseball fans since baseball! You become a team owner. You scout, sign up, draft and trade; keep the stats; call up players from the minor leagues."
• Dedication: to Sandra Kempasky
• First sentence: Was George Foster worth bags of money?
• Last sentence: When we meet again, perhaps a theater near you showing "The Rotisserie League Goes to Japan," let's just say, "Yoo-Hoo."
• Random excerpt from middle #1: The Furriers are a perennial Rotisserie League power because of an unwavering belief in two principles: (1) You can never have too much pitching, and; (2) You must never be too loyal to players.
• Random excerpt from middle #2: Never mind that the news of the world is desperate, as usual. If you're coming down the stretch in a pennant race and the paper says Alan Wiggins stole four bases for you, it creates a kind of euphoria that a grim front page can't take away.
• Random excerpt from middle #3: Pat Putnam delivered 19 home runs for his $1 salary in 1983. Lonnie Smith was once a $2 ballplayer, Dickie Thon is still $3, and journeyman-reliever-turned-ace-start Joe Price will take his 2.88 ERA in the 1984 season for just $1.
• Random excerpt from middle #4: From the section titled "Five Things You Should Never Do": 3. Don't let your computer tell you how to play. Just because you can manipulate numbers virtually without limit doesn't mean who you should.
• Random excerpt from the middle #5: There is a further, transcendent reason why your Rotisserie team's name and heraldry and propaganda merit thought and effort: they can greatly intensify the silliness quotient. (This book was definitely the inspiration for the fact that my MicroLeague Baseball team the Wallingford Smashers had yearbooks.)
• Further reading: "Untold stories of 40 years of fantasy baseball," a 2020 article by Matthew Berry on ESPN.com. It mentions the importance of this 1984 book, with its "weird green cover." 

Milkwalker knows where you live

I drank from a lot of milk cartons during my K-12 school days in Pennsylvania, New Jersey and Florida (maybe that's why I've never had a broken bone). But I never came across anything as creepy as Milkwalker. 

Indeed, Milkwalker is real. Or, at least, the milk-carton public service campaign by Darigold that featured Milkwalker was real. When I first came across Milkwalker in one of my social media feeds, I figured it was too good to be true. It had to be a clever fake, because it looks too much like something that someone would invent as Slenderman's weird cousin. 

But Know Your Meme has the lowdown:

"Milkwalker, an anthropomorphic milk carton, was originally created by Seattle-based dairy and agricultural co-op Darigold, Inc. [in the mid 1980s] as the mascot of the company and a public service announcement character that encourages children to remember their full name, address and telephone number in case of emergencies. On November 28th, 2016, over three decades after its introduction, various images of the obscure mascot began circulating online after it was highlighted by the Tumblr blog Heck-Yeah-Old-Tech."

I even found this short article in the June 5, 1985, edition of the Whidbey News-Times of Oak Harbor, Washington (click to embiggen):

Some folks embrace Milkwalker and reject the creepypasta angle of it being just another thing to fear. In a Facebook comment in August 2024, Holly Gee wrote: "Yes, the milkwalker definitely looks like a spooky cryptid, but I like the idea of him being a force for good, protecting the innocent by milkwalking all over the wicked from the shadows. He's terrifying, but terrifies only the deserving."

But while Milkwalker seemingly originated with Darigold in the 1980s, how long has it actually been around? Is it, perhaps, ancient? I'll leave you with this curious excerpt from the March 24, 1876, edition of The Stockport Advertiser in Stockport, England. Interpret it as you wish: 

Saturday's postcard: Mountainhome, Pennsylvania (1909)

Today's postcard, mailed in August 1909, features the sprawling Woodlawn House in Mountainhome, a census-designated place in Monroe County, Pennsylvania. You could fit a lot of John-Boys and Mary Ellens in that house. 

According to the Monroe County Historical Association, the three largest villages in Barrett Township "are Canadensis (named for the scientific name for the hemlock tree, Tsugas canadensis), Cresco (once known as Oakland), and Mountainhome (once known as White’s Tannery)."

Woodlawn House advertised aggressively in the Brooklyn (New York) Eagle in 1913 (and probably in other newspapers). The advertisement read: "WOODLAWN HOUSE, Mountain Home, Pa. High elevation. Acc. 25. Trout fishing; 1 mile from sta. Mrs. M.A. Cooper, Prop."

An earlier advertisement touted Woodlawn's farm eggs and milk. I couldn't find any evidence of Woodlawn House still standing today. If you have information, please leave it in the comments! 

This postcard was mailed in 1909 to Mrs. Paul Clemons at the Clemons Silk Mill in Scranton, Pennsylvania. The short cursive message states:

dear Mrs Clemens

we arrived hear [sic] safe hope you are well as it leaves me at present

with love from 

Mrs Rouch [or Roach]

The silk mill made the national news in 1913. The Philadelphia Inquirer reported that on March 25, "a fierce storm that acted every whit like a Western tornado swept over Scranton and vicinity. ... The Clemons Silk Mill, owned by D.G. Derry, of Catasauqua, was unroofed and a 150-foot section of the roof was deposited on the adjacent engine room, partially demolishing the structure. There were 150 girls at work, but outside of bruises and scratches they were uninjured."

This postcard was published by Fred D. Mick of Mountainhome and made in Germany.